The triumph
was all the greater because the work grew, not easier,
but harder as it progressed. The same route used twice
became an impassable quagmire. So, when the last two
hundred men had wallowed through, the whole ensnaring
bog was seamed with a perfect maze of decoying death-trails
snaking in and out of the forbidding scrub and boulders.
Pepperrell's dispatches could not exaggerate these 'almost
incredible hardships.' Afloat and ashore, awake and
asleep, the men were soaking wet for days together. At
the end of the longest haul they had nothing but a choice
of evils. They could either lie down where they were, on
hard rock or oozing bog, exposed to the enemy's fire the
moment it was light enough to see the British batteries,
or they could plough their way back to camp. Here they
were safe enough from shot and shell; but, in other
respects, no better off than in the batteries. Most men's
kits were of the very scantiest. Very few had even a
single change of clothing.
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